


Reach For The Sky

by BearlyWriting



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Blood and Injury, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not much Comfort though, Prompt: Standing Cuffs, Rescue, Torture, Urination, stress positions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 16:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18760165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BearlyWriting/pseuds/BearlyWriting
Summary: "It’s impossible to ignore the pain completely, but a sort of numbness seems to crawl through her as she hangs in the darkness. It starts in her arms, creeping from her bloodless fingertips, through her muscles, until all she can feel is the bright point of pain at her wrists."For the prompt "Standing Cuffs" for the Bad Things Happen Bingo.





	Reach For The Sky

The bounty hunter isn’t gentle as he forces Pidge into the cuffs. The gauntlets that usually protect the delicate skin of her wrists are gone, and the thick metal pinches as he snaps them tight. She fights, but her head is spinning from the earlier blow, her jaw aching as she clenches it tight to keep the little wounded sound trying to escape between her teeth, and the alien’s six limbs hold her still with frightening ease.

“My friends will come for me,” she snaps. But the bounty hunter doesn’t seem overly concerned, just steps back, letting Pidge drop against the cuffs. This time she can’t hold back her surprised yelp of pain. The sharp edge of the metal bites into her wrists as her weight falls against it. She struggles, trying to get her feet under her, but only her toes can actually reach and she has to strain to hold herself upright.

The bounty hunter smirks. “I hope so.” One of his hands reaches up to clasp her chin. “The Green Paladin is a pretty prize, but I always prefer a full set.”

Pidge snarls at that. She might have been stupid enough to let herself get captured, but there’s no way a bounty hunter in a little smuggler’s ship will stand a chance against the others. Still, if he’s stupid enough to believe that, it’s probably in Pidge’s favour.

He smirks again. Lets his hand drop so she can tuck her chin back against her chest, glaring. Pidge would happily claw that expression right off his face if her hands were free. Instead she just shifts, trying to settle more steadily on her toes.

“You just hang out here for now.” 

Then he laughs, as if that was actually funny.

 

***

 

Pidge isn’t sure how much time passes before the bounty hunter returns, but her whole body is aching by the time the door slides open again.

Her wrists hurt the worst. It’s impossible to keep her weight off of them. For a while she had balanced on her toes, stretching as far as she could to try to protect the delicate skin, but it hadn’t been long before her legs had been trembling with the effort. Now she hangs against the cuffs until breathing becomes too difficult and she has to struggle back onto her toes before her lungs feel like they might collapse completely. Then, when she can’t hold the position any longer, she slumps as carefully as she can against the cuffs, worried that dropping too quickly will yank her shoulders right out of their sockets.

It feels as though she’s been doing it for hours, but most likely it’s been much less time than that before the bounty hunter reappears. There’s a woosh of air as the door slides open, then he’s stalking towards her, a plastic water bottle gripped in one hand, another outstretched. That smug smile is still plastered on his face.

As soon as he gets close, Pidge strikes. It hurts to shift so much of her weight to her wrists, and the strain of dragging her body up is agony on her shoulders and arms. But she grits her teeth against the pain and kicks out. Lands a solid blow on the outstretched arm. The bounty hunter jerks back with a hiss. The smile is wiped from his face and he clutches at the injured limb in pained surprise, but it’s paltry compensation for the burn of her ribs, the sharp tearing ache in her wrists. A trickle of something warm and wet slides down her arm. Blood. Oozing from underneath the cuffs.

Still, there’s vicious satisfaction in knowing she’s hurt him.

“I wouldn’t try that again,” he snaps, but Pidge notices that he’s staying back, well clear of the range of her feet. “And here I was trying to be nice.”

He rattles the bottle in his hand and the water sloshes invitingly with the movement. Pidge hadn’t even realised how thirsty she was until this moment. Suddenly her mouth is dry as a desert, dehydration rubbing her throat raw, pounding a headache behind her eye. Or maybe that’s the punch she’d taken earlier, it’s difficult to tell.

All she knows is that suddenly she’s desperate for a drink.

“If you really wanted to be nice, you’d let me out of these cuffs.” It’s breathless, choked by her sore throat and the pressure of her own ribs against her lungs. That infuriating smile is back and the bounty hunter moves closer, apparently deciding it’s worth the risk. Pidge lets him - she doesn’t have the strength to try that again.

“I’m not that stupid Paladin, and neither are you. Now behave, and I’ll make sure you don’t die of thirst.”

Pidge flashes teeth. Snarls. When he steps close she presses her lips together, refusing to open them even as he forces the bottle against her mouth. There’s no way to know it’s really water and her mind can’t help supplying all of the awful things he could have done to it - drugs, poison, nanotech even, although even she can admit that’s unlikely.

But she’s not going to let him put anything in her mouth. Trickles of liquid slip over her chin, carve cool lines through the sweat and grime on her neck. Then the bounty hunter presses one big hand over her face, blocking off her nose, and suddenly Pidge can’t breathe. She thrashes, even though it hurts, even though it’s not just water trickling over her skin. She knows exactly what he’s doing, and she won’t let him win, but she can’t breathe. She can’t _breathe_.

Finally she peels her lips apart. Opens her mouth wide to try to drag in oxygen. There’s no air though, only a steady stream of water, filling her mouth insistently, forcing her to choke and swallow in a desperate attempt to clear her airways.

Eventually the bounty hunter pulls away and Pidge can take a huge, whooping breath. She coughs automatically, struggling not to vomit up all of the water she had just inhaled. It sits heavily in her stomach, more solid than liquid has any right to feel. Feels like it’s dragging her down to the ground, tearing yet more skin from her wrists.

At the same time, it’s heaven on her throat. Not that she’ll let the bounty hunter know that.

Maybe he does though, because his grin is wide and white..

 

***

 

For a while, Pidge cries. At first silent, bitter tears that stream down her cheeks. Frustration swells in her chest, a hot lump at the base of her throat, and then the tears are no longer silent. She sobs, wet, awful noises choking out of her. For a long time, she shudders alone in the darkness, the pain in her arms and her own helpless anger fuelling her tears. Until, finally, the pressure in her chest hurts too badly to keep going. When her sobs eventually stop, she feels wrung out, loose and soggy, and twisted around in her body, like a wet cloth left out to dry. 

_They’ll come,_ she thinks, a little desperately. But she has no idea if they know where she is. No idea how long it will take them. She doesn’t know if she can stand this much longer. 

Pidge does though, because she has to. It’s impossible to ignore the pain completely, but a sort of numbness seems to crawl through her as she hangs in the darkness. It starts in her arms, creeping from her bloodless fingertips, through her muscles, until all she can feel is the bright point of pain at her wrists. The numbness creeps through her shoulders, steals over the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Turns her legs to jelly. More blood wells beneath the cuffs as she slumps, but she’s too tired and boneless to hold herself up anymore. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care that she can only drag in shallow sips of air, or that her shoulders are groaning against the pain. She doesn’t care about the hot lines carving their way down her arms. It’s not something Pidge has ever been particularly good at – turning off her brain – but she almost manages it now. At least until the dull ache in her pelvis turns into an insistent pressure. The water she had almost been grateful for earlier settling heavily in her bladder.

Damn. This is the last thing she needs. 

“Hey,” she shouts and her voice echoes back at her, sounding small and rough. “Hey, you need to let me down. I need the bathroom!” 

There’s no reply. Pidge can’t say she was really expecting one, but the silence still swells that spark of frustration in her chest. She grinds her teeth against the sensation, and the insistent press of her bladder. Part of her kind of wants to cry again, and she can’t help the wet prickle at the back of her eyes, or the heat burning across her cheeks. 

“Please,” she tries, even though it’s useless. Who knows if the bounty hunter is close enough to hear her? And if he is, he isn’t likely to give in to her demands. Still, Pidge squirms, rubbing her wrists raw as she jerks against the cuffs. Dragging in shallow breaths, desperately trying not to put any strain on her pelvis. It works for a little bit. Although she shivers with the strain, cold sweat breaking out across her forehead, sliding down her back. It hurts, almost eclipsing her numb arms and strained chest. A sharp, deep, ache. 

Finally, she can’t hold it in any longer. Wet heat spreads across her legs. Pidge jerks, curling her legs up underneath her as warm liquid tickles down her thighs. There’s a burst of sharp ammonia and Pidge almost sobs again. Something cold and dark snarling into life in her stomach. It’s awful. Humiliating. But there isn’t exactly anything she can do about it. At least the ache disappears. Now there’s only all of her other pains to worry about again. And a very long time to worry about them.

 

***

 

In the end, Pidge doesn’t see the bounty hunter again. There’s a thud, rocking the little ship wildly, and throwing her against the cuffs. It’s so loud that it seems to reverberate through the entire room around her. Pidge holds her breath, fighting against a gasp, trying to figure out exactly what happened. If she’s lucky, this is a rescue – if not, then she might be in even more trouble. Cold horror slides through her veins – if this is the Galra… 

Pidge tries to drag herself up onto her toes, tries to be ready for whatever is coming for her. But her legs feel too weak, shaking beneath her, the balls of her feet sore and bruised from the repeated pressure. Urine has dried on her skin, sticking her flight suit to her legs with a horrible heavy, itchy sensation that Pidge longs to tear away. Her arms are so numb now that she barely even notices the release of pressure.

Then the ship rocks again and Pidge’s feet slide out from beneath her. She falls more heavily than she had expected, landing hard on her wrists. There’s a pop, deafening in her ear, but for a moment, no pain to accompany it, just a sharp burst of adrenaline, tingling across her numb skin. It doesn’t last. Agony screams through her shoulder, burning hot through her arm and the side of her chest. She chokes on a scream. She needs to get her feet back under her. Needs to steady herself. If she can just release the pressure, maybe the pain will stop. 

But she’s dizzy. Weak. Her head is spinning with the pain and the hours of standing without anything to focus on. At least, she thinks it’s been hours, in her state it’s really impossible to tell. She hangs against the cuffs, fighting for breath, trying to suppress the hurt little whimpers bubbling out of her throat. It’s agony on her dislocated shoulder, but she doesn’t have the strength to drag herself upright again, and another fall could be even worse. 

Finally, after what feels like another eternity, waiting suspended in the darkness, she hears movement outside of the little room she’s been held captive in. There’s a series of dull thuds that raise all of the little hairs on the back of her neck, and then the door slides open, and Pidge has to blink against the sudden light. 

A dark shadow stands silhouetted in the doorway. Tall and broad and – Hunk. It’s Hunk standing there and, honestly, Pidge isn’t sure if she’s ever been so glad to see him before in her life. He must recognise her at the same time because suddenly he’s moving quickly towards her, striding across the room quicker than Pidge expects.

“Pidge!” He stops, and even with though Pidge is stretched high on her toes, she still has to look up to meet his gaze. Wide eyes flicker over her. “Hey, hey, Pidge are you OK?” Then, before she can answer, “Guys, in here – I found her.”

The volume has her head spinning again and she has to blink hard before she can focus back on the Yellow Paladin’s face. Hands flutter over her arms, her chest, seeming hesitant to touch. When they skim past her dislocated shoulder she can’t help flinching. 

Sorry,” Hunk mutters with a grimace. “I’m so sorry Pidge. We’ll get you down, don’t worry.” 

“It’s fine,” she tries, squeezing it out of her crushed chest. But Hunk’s grimace only deepens. 

“The others are just coming.” A brush against the cuffs, too light to coax any pain from her numb skin, not beneath the throbbing agony of her shoulder. “Shiro will be able to get these off.” 

There’s a clatter of sound. Hunk’s face draws tight. Then the others are right there, piling into the room behind Hunk. Keith clutching his bayard tight, Shiro’s Galra hand still lit up, shining brilliant purple in the dim light. Lance follows last, his own bayard pointing back into the hallway. His eyes bug when he catches sight of Pidge, dangling against the wall, and a horrible flicker of pity works across his face. Keith and Shiro both control their own reactions better, although Keith’s lips press into a thin white line. Shiro steps up beside Hunk, and Pidge has to crane her head even higher. 

Suddenly she feels ashamed. She’s horribly aware of her vulnerable position, of the blood, tacky on her arms and the urine staining her legs. Can they smell that awful stale waft of ammonia when she shifts? Heat floods across her cheeks. They must know.

“Sorry we took so long.” There’s a soft expression on Shiro’s face that’s not quite pity, but his eyes are cold when she meets his gaze, as if he’s reigning back some other emotion. “Hold still, I’ll get you out of these.” 

And Pidge trusts Shiro – with her life if it came to that – but she can’t help jerking away when his arm lights up. Something dark flits across his face - for less than a second, but it’s there. It smooths out almost immediately after, back into that soft, blank mask, but Pidge’s chest clenches guiltily. Shiro doesn’t deserve that. And yet, that barely contained power, so close to her damaged wrists, her numb and aching arms, still scares her.

“I’m going to cut the cuffs, OK?” And because it's Shiro, he waits for her nod before he brings the glowing fingers of his hand towards her. He pauses, looking expectantly at Hunk, and the Yellow Paladin wraps his solid arms around Pidge’s chest. Immediately, the pressure on Pidge’s arms, the desperate tension in her legs, eases, and she can’t help the soft groan she lets loose at the relief. It eclipses almost every other sensation. Eclipses her worry about the fact that, so close Hunk can’t miss the fact that she’s wet herself. Eclipses the pain in her ribs when Hink’s arms tighten to hold her in place. Even when Shiro lifts his arm, pressing the heat of his prosthetic against the cuffs, slicing them apart with surprising ease, Pidge can only loll limp in Hunk’s grip.

She does let out a pained whimper when Shiro carefully lays her arm down at her side. The sudden rush of blood is like fire, licking along her veins. She turns her face against Hunk’s chest but it doesn’t muffle her second cry when the other arm is released, jarring the dislocated socket.

“Sorry,” Shiro murmurs. When she glances up at him, his face is tight. Gentle hands probe her arm, light over the abused flesh. “Dislocated I think.”

There’s a hiss from somewhere near the door. A muttered _Jesus_. Shiro ignores both.

“I don’t want to try anything here. Can you stand it until we’re back at the castle?” Pidge manages a weak nod. Shiro folds her arm carefully against her chest, wincing when she grits her teeth against the pain. Then she’s lifted into Hunk’s arms as easily as breathing. It’s nice - to be held, to not have to strain and fight and hurt anymore. They had come for her.

She knew they would.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> I have a tumblr at [bearly-writing](https://bearly-writing.tumblr.com/) if you fancy dropping by for a chat, or to request a Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt!


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